


oldest trick in the book

by Rosslyn



Series: Choice and Eloquence [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Blood Bond, Established Relationship, Fluff, Geralt's Gwent Adventures, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Sex Pollen, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 01:36:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20592500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosslyn/pseuds/Rosslyn
Summary: “So at which point,” Regis interjected, “did you realise the Gwent match was a ruse?”“Would you believe me if I said it was from the beginning?” Geralt said.





	oldest trick in the book

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [oldest trick in the book](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25393789) by [icelantern_OWL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icelantern_OWL/pseuds/icelantern_OWL)

> 20% crack 80% pr0n and 120% feelings? I guess? Have a liberal helping of tooth-rotting fluff, too.

The Inn at the Crossroads was brightly lit and had swarms of patrons tonight.

“Drink, drink,” said the player, “and deal your card, stranger! You’ve been staring at it too long, make haste, haste!”

His opponent, a man with white hair and a wolf medallion around his neck, hummed and drew heartily from the mug. “Patience,” he growled, as he studied his hand again.

The player, a boy of no more than twelve, tutted. “This is Gwent, stranger,” he said, tapping the table with impatient fingers, “Not Shah! Drink, drink. Make your move.”

The Witcher made his move. And drank slowly from the mug, never taking his eyes off the boy for an instant.

“This _cannot_ be a real card,” the boy said, picking up Cow and reading its descriptions with an outraged expression. “Drink! You cheat me, stranger. I’ll have to get another keg.”

“I never cheat,” the Witcher said.

“Drink, drink.”

The Witcher drank.

They played on, sitting in a corner in the Inn, being paid no attention by the other patrons. The boy played a cunning hand, but the Witcher was wiser, more experienced.

“Pox on it,” the boy said at last. “You won again! Drink, drink.”

The Witcher emptied the mug and set it loudly on the table. “The _whole_ collection, kid,” he said.

The boy groaned, rubbed a hand over his face, and growled. “Arrrgh,” he said. “But a man’s word is a man’s honour! Fine, fine, you rob me, stranger. Follow me, my house is not far from here. I’ll give you the cards.”

The Witcher followed the boy out into the night and down dark winding roads. The boy kept casting surreptitious glances behind him, but the Witcher was oblivious. His face was a stony mask.

Finally, they came to a lone shack sitting at the edge of the woods. It cast an eerie silhouette on the forest floor.

“Is this your house?” The Witcher asked quietly.

“Y — yes,” the boy said. He was watching the Witcher openly with worry now. “Are you — are you feeling okay?” he said, voice shaking a little. “You are not — not feeling drunk?”

The Witcher watched him back calmly. “You know what,” he said. “I actually am.”

Then he fell to the ground, and went unconscious.

***

“So at which point,” Regis interjected, “did you realise the Gwent match was a ruse?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was from the beginning?” Geralt said. The vampire grinned. “Anyway. Soon as I realised, I was playing along.”

***

“I can’t move him, he’s too big,” the boy hissed. “You can come and get it for once!”

A woman answered. She had a melodic voice, but she only murmured, and Geralt couldn’t hear what she said.

Footsteps. Soft swishing of a draping dress. Geralt kept his eyes closed and his body relaxed, face down in the tall grass. A waft of floral perfume.

The footstep stopped. A soft inhale, and silence.

“You fool,” a soft voice said above him. “I can’t drink from him!”

Geralt remained unmoving, and kept his heartbeat slow and deceptively steady.

“Why not?” the boy said plaintively. “You said you wanted someone strong, with good blood! He’s a warrior! Look at his swords!”

“These swords,” the woman said coldly, “means he’s a_Witcher._ Who will probably wake up any second.”

“But witchman are evil, no?” the boy said. “They are monsters. You can drink your fill, finally! You don’t have to stop just to keep them alive.”

The woman sighed melodically. “A Witcher can take a lot, true,” she said with a wistful note, “and probably taste a lot better, too.”

“So go ahead!” the boy whined. “He cheat me at Gwent, too!”

Another long inhale, ending in a sigh. “I cannot,” she said.

“Why noooot?” the boy said, stamping his feet.

“Because —”

***

“Because,” Geralt said slowly, turning his head and offering a faint smirk, “She could smell on me, the scent of another vampire.”

Regis watched Geralt with a small enigmatic smile. “That’s very perceptive of her,” he murmured.

Geralt hummed. “Thought you’d like that,” he said, stretching out on the comfortable armchair.

They had paid for one of the more comfortable rooms in the inn, and it was a nice respite from the Path. The room was warmly lit and smelled of aniseed, cinnamon and wormwood. Regis had been listening to Geralt recounting the story with his usual attentiveness, and was now watching him intently.

“Did you kill her?” Regis asked softly.

“No,” Geralt said. “She was moderate in her drinking and she never killed. The boy was a war orphan. She was like a mother to him. We exchanged stern words about parenting.”

Regis’s smile broadened into a grin. “Now I can’t even say I wasn’t surprised,” he said. “You discussed parenting with a Nekurat?”

“So you _can_ smell each other,” Geralt said, with interest. “Is it a vampire territory thing?”

Regis chuckled. “No,” he said. “Merely deduction. She is not a Higher Vampire, yet remains too perceptive to be a lesser, intelligent one. She is capable of assimilating into human society enough to raise a child and establish a well-used ruse. It might be the oldest trick in the book, but nevertheless a bit more finesse than a Katakan, I’d say. Ergo, she’s more likely to be a Nekurat.”

“Too perceptive, you say,” Geralt said. “You seem surprised she was able to smell you on me.”

“Given that she had the boy spike the ale, yes,” Regis said conversationally. “Your penchant for recognising important details is astute as always.”

Geralt sat up straighter. “Spike the ale?” he said, warily.

“Ah, yes,” Regis said lightly, “Witchers are immune to most poisons. You could naturally be brazen when strangers offer you beverages, could you not? And before you rush,” he said, holding Geralt with an amused gaze, “It wasn’t poison.”

Geralt, who had risen from the chair, lifted a pointedly exasperated eyebrow.

“I believe it is primarily for her benefit,” Regis said. “Though no doubt the intended effect could be pleasurable for both.”

Geralt waited, but no more explanation was forthcoming. He raised the other eyebrow. Regis, true to his charms, only smiled at him in that maddeningly indecipherable way.

“What does it do?” Geralt asked.

“Did you manage to acquire the card collection, after all?” Regis said. “_Audentes Fortuna iuvat_ — ”

“Regis.”

The vampire grinned at him. “Your Gwent adventures, my dear friend,” he said wryly, “can be ever so gratifying.”

Geralt crossed his arms and scowled.

“You smell… delectable,” Regis continued inconsequentially. His nostrils flared, and his eyes glistened in the candlelight.

Geralt felt his eyebrow twitch again. The vampire was watching him unblinkingly, and the intensity at which his gaze burned bordered inhuman. Regis was still smiling faintly. A tendril of danger, hazy with with possibilities, weaved up his spine.

“So how’s it work?” Geralt said, dropping his arms to lean against the side table. He cast a sly glance towards the armchair by the window, where the vampire still sat, unmoving. “Gonna suddenly forget me? Or yourself?”

“Oh, Geralt,” Regis said. “I doubt anything in the world would make me forget you.”

Geralt dipped his head even as he felt the corner of his lips quirk hopelessly upwards. “Yeah, you gotta stop saying things like that, Regis,” he murmured, unable to keep the smile out of his voice. “People might start to think you like me.”

“Indeed?” Regis said with faux astonishment. “Whatever gave me away?”

Geralt rolled his eyes fondly. He waited a few more breaths, but Regis was still infuriatingly unforthcoming. Geralt sighed.

“If you don’t want to tell,” he said, unfastening the straps of his brigandines, “then I’m going to bed.”

The room was quiet for a few moments as Geralt casually started to undress. He could feel the vampire’s gaze burning hot and heavy on his back, and Geralt smiled to himself: he could be extraordinarily patient, when he wanted to.

“I believe,” Regis said finally, voice tight, when Geralt started to pull at his undershirt. “She had the boy give a… potion, of sorts.”

“Mmm hmm,” Geralt said, tossing his gloves onto the dresser haphazardly.

“It’s — something that is occasionally used by the vampires,” Regis said.

“Insightful as always,” Geralt nodded.

Regis made a small sound, like he was trying hard to contain laughter. “It’s usually used,” he said with some apparent difficulty, “to — ah — enhance flavour, and — encourage vigour — ”

Geralt paused, and made an aggravated sound. “Are you telling me,” he said incredulously as he turned to stare at the vampire, “She _seasoned my blood_?”

Regis grimaced apologetically, but his eyes were dancing. “Yes,” he said. “You smell divine.”

Geralt peered at him. The vampire gazed back at him serenely, fingers steepled on his thighs, eyes clear and very much human.

“Guess it doesn’t affect Higher Vampires,” Geralt said, starting on his shirt again.

“Oh, it does,” Regis said nonchalantly. “But we are not so easily reduced to shuddering messes for lust of the simple, carnal sort, my dear Witcher.”

Geralt’s fingers stilled midway at the second button. He glanced at Regis, who was still sitting like a statue by the window. The vampire looked utterly unflustered, yet.

Geralt felt a slow grin starting to tug at his lips.

He sauntered towards Regis, noting with satisfaction the way the vampire tracked his movement raptly, and crowded Regis in his seat.

Regis’s eyes flashed and his nostrils flared again.

“Regis,” Geralt murmured softly, dipping his head low, “Just how affected are you?”

Regis licked his lips. “Suitably,” he replied, hoarse.

Geralt let his eyes drop to the vampire’s now clasped hands over his thighs, and smirked. “I think,” he said, leaning close to whisper in Regis’s ear, “We should not let her efforts go to waste.”

“Is that so,” Regis murmured.

“Mmm hmm,” Geralt said, bending lower. “I believe you just told me I’ve been dosed with a vampire aphrodisiac.”

“Did I?” Regis said.

“Eloquently,” Geralt said, smug.

Regis raised an eyebrow. Geralt slid a hand onto the vampire’s thigh, and lifted a brow in challenge himself: despite his thoroughly imperturbable appearance, Regis was already irrefutably aroused.

“I have always admired,” Regis said, seemingly impervious to Geralt’s wandering hand, “your ability in making the best of any situation…”

“Mmm,” Geralt said. “Pretty sure you are mistaking me for Dandelion.”

Regis vibrated quietly with laughter. The taut posture fell away as a hand came up to cup Geralt by the cheek, and Regis’s eyes grew fond. “Oh, Geralt,” he sighed, and Geralt leaned close again, letting the vampire nudge at the sensitive spot behind his ear.

“You are entirely too trusting,” Regis murmured, though it was without heat.

Geralt rubbed gentle circles against the erection under his palm, and grinned at the way Regis inhaled, sharply and involuntarily. “Am I?” he drawled. “Gonna forget yourself, and ravage me after all?”

Regis chuckled silently. “Now why do I get the feeling,” he said, warm and teasing, “that this is exactly what you want?”

“Astute observation as ever, Regis,” Geralt said. “So what you gonna do about it?”

Regis smiled and brushed light circles around Geralt’s temple. His eyes were bright and intent in the flickering candlelight, seeking permission with the unspoken question. Geralt nudged into the vampire’s hand and nodded, feeling his stomach tighten in anticipation.

“You have no idea,” Regis whispered, “How much you affect me.”

Geralt made a small, choking sound as something white and hot suddenly shoved into his lower abdomen. Pleasure, indistinct and ethereal, exploded from somewhere in the back of his spine and quaked all the way down to his toes. The feeling was foreign and all consuming, almost animalistic; in the incorporeal haze that wrapped him, Geralt suddenly remembered something Syanna had said —

_— wholly, unconditionally, and all-consumingly, like an animal — _

He was distantly aware that he was being held up by Regis’s inhumanly strong grip. His knees had buckled at some point, and the light press of the vampire’s fingers were burning like the sun on his face. Regis watched him with half-lidded eyes. How the vampire retained control was beyond Geralt — he was certain he was going mad with need, with want, with an all consuming desire to claim and never let go —

Regis leaned close, and licked into his open and panting mouth. Geralt made an embarrassing sound, halfway between a whimper and a plea, and sank unceremoniously onto the ground.

“Fuck,” Geralt breathed. The pleasure was so intense that his eyes stung.

“Quite,” Regis said, sounding still maddeningly composed.

Geralt watched Regis for a few beats from the floor, feeling dazed and incoherent, and swallowed. Regis usually dropped the veneer of frailty when they were alone, and the vampire looked powerful and esoteric sitting in the moonlight’s half shadow. Geralt was painfully turned on.

Regis smiled at him as Geralt struggled up on shaky knees. “Pleasing, I trust?” he asked, smug.

“Show off,” Geralt muttered, unable to restrain the eye roll.

“So you keep saying,” Regis said cheerfully.

Geralt licked his lips and backed slowly towards the bed. “Got more where that came from?” he said, huskily, pulling at the rest of his shirt buttons.

Regis watched him with an enigmatic smile. “Do I,” he murmured.

At some point he lost all of his clothes. Regis kept a light hand over Geralt’s temple, and colourful, filthy images appeared in his mind: Geralt watched himself being bent in a dozen different positions over a dozen different surfaces, half bewildered, half embarrassed and hopelessly aroused, and proceeded to demand a soulful re-enactment of some of them.

“Regis,” he gritted, with his ankles nearly behind his ears and Regis smiling that cheerful, smug smile of his, “You kinky old vampire — ”

Regis thrusted once, calculatedly, and Geralt’s breath stuttered. But the vampire just stopped a hairbreadths away of the sweet spot, moving with slow, tantalising deliberateness, and Geralt was sure he was going to be driven mad with frustration, which was probably the point — but —

“Dammit,” Geralt gasped, “Put your back into it.”

Regis lifted a brow. “My,” he said, with faux surprise, “First he calls me old, now he’s complaining about my performance.” He tutted with disappointment. “Romance is truly dead.”

Geralt growled. Regis remained utterly immovable despite the frantic grappling of Geralt’s hands, and he watched Geralt with dark and half-lidded eyes.

“What am I going to do with you,” Regis murmured, pressing a kiss against his temple. Geralt caught a blinding flash of skin on skin, of delicious friction and frantic snap of hips, yet Regis _was not moving_ —

“Anything,” Geralt panted. “Just — come on — ”

“Anything?” Regis repeated, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Oh, my dear Geralt.” He pushed Geralt’s thighs up, impossibly by another fraction, and purred. “Do be careful what you wish for.”

An indeterminable amount of time later, they were arranged on the bed in a comfortable cuddle, and Regis hummed thoughtfully. Geralt felt him tease at his entrance again, and could only let escape a breathy sigh in reply, as the vampire squeezed in once more. He was utterly spent and pleasantly sore all over.

“I think,” Regis murmured against his ear, “I would like to remain seated in you, just like this, till morning.”

Geralt groaned even as his cock jumped ineffectually at the thought. “Never took you for a,” he rasped, but promptly lost his thread of thought when Regis’s hand swept lower, “a — ”

“Monster?” Regis whispered, smile in his voice.

Time faded in and out. At some point Geralt was being fucked against a wall, Regis lifting him with an easy and effortless grip; a nebulous while later he was being bent over the window, the moonlight casting a sole shadow on the floor. A draft of cold wind brushed against his body, and some lucidity returned to Geralt’s mind; he watched his own silhouette, moving with abandon and seemingly being driven to the point of insanity by an invisible being. Regis was firmly hilted in him, feverishly hard and inexplicably real, yet —

It all felt like a long, delirious dream.

He pulled Regis close and cranked his neck, desperate to meet the vampire for a kiss. After a second or two of awkward angles and lips dragging against skin, Geralt freed himself with some effort and jumped on the table, spreading his legs and panting, completely heedless of how debauched he looked.

“C’mon,” he murmured, cupping a hand behind Regis’s head, “Come here.”

Regis watched him with half-lidded eyes, a soft smile upon his lips, and kissed him back, tenderly, knowingly. The vampire weaved into him like a breath of the night.

Geralt staggered awake some time in the early morning, feeling hot and full, and realised Regis was, true to his word, still sheathed within him. The vampire held him firmly from behind, and his fingers were tracing lazy, agonising circles over the sensitive slit on Geralt’s cock, and Geralt shuddered: at this rate, he was going to be the first Witcher to die in his bed because of — of —

“I can feel you,” Regis murmured with smug amusement, “being melodramatic.”

“Can’t,” Geralt mumbled. His limbs didn’t seem to belong to him anymore. Neither did his tongue, or brain, for that matter. “Regis,” he hissed, as the vampire shifted and hit that spot inside of him again.

“Try for me, my dear Witcher,” Regis purred.

Geralt groaned. “I’m — nnngh,” he slurred, “When will it wear _off_ — ”

Regis chuckled and the vibrations sent tiny sparks flying up his spine. Geralt growled. Regis nosed behind his ear and inhaled again, languidly, and a shot of possessiveness wound through Geralt’s spine, warm and intoxicating.

“You smell,” Regis murmured, low and pleased, “_Mine_.”

Geralt choked out a small sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Words lost their meaning. Regis grasped him tightly and began stroking him, slow and torturous and bordering on pain, and his mind was screaming _no more_ but his traitorous hips was bucking into the cool hand nonetheless, and — and — _no fucking way_ — _no no no yes —_

“Oh,” He distantly heard Regis sigh next to him, small and gratified, “You are so very mine, my dear Geralt.”

When he came to himself again, the room was warm and smelled like spices. Regis kissed light kisses along the scars on his back, and Geralt felt like he’d fought three Basilisks in one day. He shifted experimentally and groaned. He was not going to be able to walk straight for weeks, let alone ride anywhere anytime soon.

Regis nudged against the back of his neck and made a pleased sound. The vampire seemed to be radiating contentment, at least, satiated at last.

“Knew you’d suck me dry one day,” Geralt mumbled.

Regis laughed quietly. “You court dangerous creatures, Witcher,” he murmured.

“Bite me,” Geralt grunted without heat.

“My, aren’t we full of wit today,” Regis said, smirking. “Anymore innuendos you want to get off your chest?”

Geralt sighed. With feeling. “I’m empty,” he said. Grievously.

Regis laughed, delighted. “Well done,” he said, pecking Geralt on the neck and sending another involuntary shudder through him. “And we can’t even say it isn’t true.”

***

The Nekurat sniffed the air again just as the Witcher got ready to leave.

“Must be a special vampire to have your trust like that,” she said wistfully. The boy tugged urgently at the hem of her dress, but she ignored it, staring instead at the Witcher with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“He is,” the Witcher said.

The Nekurat searched his face. “Do you love him?”

The Witcher turned his head. His cat-like amber eyes glowed in the moonlight.

“I do,” he said.

***

“I really ought to send her flowers,” Regis said cheerfully, eyes shining.

Geralt sighed heartily. The vampire laughed, a small, happy sound that had wings.

“Oh, my dear Geralt,” Regis said, nosing at his neck as warm affection and open adoration swept over Geralt like the tide. “_Decorde totaliter et ex mente tota, sum presentialiter._”

_With all my heart and all my soul, I am with you. _

“Yeah, yeah,” Geralt said, unable to keep the smile off his face. “Show off.”

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write a long casefic for this series and then this happened. (Facepalm)


End file.
